


Head down, eyes up.

by Littleseneca



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Real Person Fiction
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Angst, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Mentions of Sexual Assault, Mentions of Underage, Mentions of neglect, No Romance, Non graphic violence, Nothing explicit, So much angst, almost forgot to mention, also, also this is smp accurate, but wilbur is a victim, fundy is trans, its canon fam, mentions of non con, none of the sleepy bois sexually assult any one, p a i n, poor wilbur, poor will gets no happy ending, sally is the abuser and the person who forces will into it, sbi, sleepy bois inc - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:27:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27838324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Littleseneca/pseuds/Littleseneca
Summary: READ THE TAGS, SOME OF THE THINGS IN THIS FIC MAY BE TRIGGERING TO YOU.BASICALLY I SELF PROGECTED RIGHT ONTO WILBUR, IM SO SORRY. Anyway, basically, sleepy boi a very bad, horrible no good, communication.Or the more serious: wilbur had often had trouble being the middle child. Why was it that he had to grit his teeth and bare any weight loaded upon him?
Relationships: Dave | Technoblade & Floris | Fundy, Dave | Technoblade & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Floris | Fundy & Phil Watson, Floris | Fundy & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Floris | Fundy & TommyInnit, Floris | Fundy & Wilbur Soot, Sally the Salmon/wilbur Soot, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot
Comments: 93
Kudos: 585
Collections: Completed stories I've read





	Head down, eyes up.

**Author's Note:**

> * strums guitar note* *S C R E A M S*

The first time the thought strikes him, Wilbur is about eight years old, newly introduced to the pink haired boy, a year or so older than him. Even at that age he knew his anger was illogical, that Phil (he never did know why his father insisted being called by his first name, he missed when Phil didn’t mind being called dad) was only giving so much attention to the new boy because he’d just been pulled out of something bad (later he would learn that the boy was in training to be an assassin, battle already carved into his bones).

Still, he was restless watching Phil ( _dad, dad, dad_ ) coach the boy through proper parrying technique, waiting patiently for his extended hand to be accepted whenever he knocked the pink haired boy down, knowing full well that he’d only have received mild laughter and a _come on! I thought I taught you better than this!_ from Phil (in jest, of course.

… Right?) 

He flinches as piercing red eyes sweep over his location, not spotting him but startling him nonetheless, empty. Wilbur creeps back to his room, quiet, the silence occasionally cut by the sparring outside, a flare of red hot jealousy cuts him open. 

How was it that this, this, _thing_ could trot into his life and steal away the little attention he still received whenever Phil wasn’t out on the battlefield, when none of Wilbur’s own attempts had worked? 

His arm was still broken at his last stunt for the barest hint of affection, he knew logically that Phil couldn’t afford to have his whole mind here, with Wilbur, else he couldn’t plan, couldn’t improve his tactics, wouldn’t survive. He was the best of the best for a reason (a particularly loud clang rang out, undoubtedly the boy striking Phil’s sword, he stared at his broken arm, it seemed like a good idea at the time but now-) and he knew that Phil couldn’t afford it and yet.

And yet here he sat in his room with a splinted arm and a boy outside that had received more praise from Phil in that one hour than Wilbur had in months. Tears pricked at the corner of his eyes as he curled under his blankets. It wasn’t fair.

\--

It’s a few hours later that the sun begins to set, when Phil usually begins cooking dinner, the one time he actively sought out Wilbur (only ever to help him set the table or chop something, if he was lucky Phil would tell him a story from the front lines, back when he was a young soldier, before his name became feared) but that night no knock came, instead the pink haired boys laughter (a twinkling sound, he thought bitterly) came echoing down the hallway, Wilbur buried his face into his pillow.

He was called down to dinner eventually, but it tasted like ash, low and burning down his throat. He choked it down nonetheless, letting it burn and smolder at the base of his stomach, burning away the fluttering butterfly’s wings and replacing the nervousness with apathy. 

“So. Wilbur,” Phil addresses him, after a bite of what looked to be some kind of rice, “how’s your arm doing, been bothering you?” 

Wilbur shakes his quietly, moving food around the plate, he had half a mind to simply throw it across the room. 

“Just some mild aches Phil.” he was lying, it ached and burned harshly, maybe he’d moved the bone at some point, though he doubted Phil had noticed at all, too focused on _him_.

Phil hums in response, though he still wasn’t truly present in the room, probably thinking about something to do with his job, (he’d only come back at all because one of the townsfolk had sent him a letter, telling him about Wilbur’s arm) the boy shifted uncomfortably.

“oh right,” Phil mutters under his breath before addressing Wilbur directly again “this is Techno, he’ll be staying with you, alright?” Wilbur nods, what little food in his stomach souring “He’ll be sleeping in the room next to you.” 

Wilbur nods again, hah, just his luck. The boy shifted awkwardly, swiping short pink hair behind his ear, eyes shooting between Phil (who’d gone back to eating) and Wilbur (expressionless, tired Wilbur) and eventually deciding to take Phil’s initiative and finish his meal.

By the end Wilbur only manages to force down half his plate, he places the leftovers in the fridge and pads silently to his room, knowing that he’d been dismissed, as always. Phil preferred to have an hour or two before bed to be on his own, sometimes reading, sometimes writing letters, either way, he didn’t like company before he slept.

And yet, only a few minutes after he closed his door he heard laughter, the boy, Techno, to something Phil had probably said. His hands curl into fists. Fine, he could work with this.

\--

It’s a week later before the bitterness begins to fade, a day after Phil leaves for the front lines again (having spent the majority of his time with Techno) and the two are sitting in the kitchen together, opposite sides of the table, mashed potatoes and meat on their plates.

“So.” Techno utters into the silence, Wilbur stops eating, glancing up through his bangs “what… do you like to do?”

Wilbur contemplates not answering at all before he spots Techno moving the food around on his plate anxiously, the slightest tremor visible in his hand, and can’t help the spark of pity. “Oh, well, I like to sing I suppose.” He takes a bite, chews it thoroughly before swallowing it down, “you?”

“I, uh, like fighting.” Wilbur huffs a bit at that, amused, its all that Techno had been doing the past week “and…” Techno stops, glancing up at Wilbur’s waiting expression and flushing pink, deciding that it would be better to shovel food into his mouth rather than to elaborate.

Wilbur’s eyes don’t stray back down to his food, entirely too intrigued. Techno doesn’t continue however, instead opting to go back to dinner as if nothing had happened at all. Wilbur internally shrugged before doing much the same.

They set down their plates to soak before heading down the same hallway to their rooms, Wilbur walks just a tad quicker, letting Techno fall behind him with little regard (later he’d learn that he’d unknowingly gained Techno’s respect that day, letting an assassin stand at his back like that) and then placing his hand on Techno's arm with out much thought, _shit, shit, shit_.

Thinking quick he utters, “I have a few poetry books in my room,” well, he hadn’t meant to reveal that tidbit, but fuck, he’d work with what he was given. “mostly for song writing but we could, just kinda, chill. Ya know?” 

He half expects to find mockery in Techno’s face when he turns around, but instead is met with something bordering on starstruck, and for the first time since Wilbur had met him he finds something he can relate with, a peice of himself.

The door shuts behind them with a soft click, and they don’t stop talking till morning.

\--

They fall into a warm affection with each other over the years, sparring and reading together and gardening (much to Techno’s delight) and find themselves becoming friends, brothers even. Wilbur learns that Techno needed warning when he was being approached (else they’d end up with Wilbur out a window again, long story) and Techno learned of Wilbur’s need for organization, schedule, and how anything given to Wilbur would invariably end up properly sorted and in perfect order.

Sure they were both rough and tumble around the edges, Techno’ dry wit, brutally honest and loudly chaotic demeanor clashing with Wilbur’s more orderly and quietly chaotic personality, and these edges could occasionally clash and catch on each other (the results were never pretty, as good as Techno was with a sword, he’d never master the art of driving someone to the edge of sanity as Wilbur had) but they’d made it work.

It was when Wilbur was twelve and Techno thirteen by only a few days that the spark of anger that had smoldered low in his stomach on the day they’d first met caught tinder.

His name was Tommy, and he’d taken to an immediate liking to Techno, apathy for Wilbur at best and there was a hot jealousy Wilbur felt as he watched them interact. It was a familiar feeling, every time Phil would give a pat on the shoulder to Techno and not him, every time someone approached Techno before him when they walked together (he understood that Techno was a pretty guy, and quite well known as the warrior son of Phil, but it didn’t make it sting any less) or every time Techno was prioritized over him.

If it was just once or twice it would have been quite fine, but ever since Techno had begun to fight performances, playing up the underdog against grown men, he’d steadily eclipsed Wilbur, barely letting him bask in the company of friends that _Wilbur_ had made, had spent cultivating. Techno this, Techno that, Techno, Techno, Techno. He was so sick of being the second child.

And it all came to a head when Phil brought an orphan boy that had once belonged to people Phil had known on the field (the war was nearing to a close at the very least, he was looking forward to meeting the warm eyed father he’d known half a lifetime ago) the kid spent more and more of his time with Techno over him, which, fine, it was fine. He understood that not everyone liked drenching themselves in history and state craft, and if it was just Tommy, fine, he didn’t really know him anyway.

But it was when Techno began to hang out with him more and more, skipping their reading afternoons to spend time with Tommy, or sparring with Tommy instead because even though he’d been there first _he was always somehow playing second fucking fiddle_.

He never brings it up, for how does one bring up the fact that they are jealous of literal four year olds for getting more positive attention then they’ve gotten their whole lives? 

And so he keeps his mouth shut, as always, the perfect middle child. 

Wilbur takes to visiting the nearby rivers, and there, at twelve years old he meets a shape shifter, a selkie or was it kelpie? He couldn’t quite remember the distinction, only that she had a cloak that could transform her into a salmon and when human her skin was a powder red. He doesn’t catch when she begins making demands of him, sinking her claws into his shoulders and draining him dry, his little wealth, his talent, his passion for life even.

He ignores it, because for the first time he’s had someone that focused on _him_ and him alone, which was more than he could say for most people. And when she held his hand as he sat on the shore next to her, watching the sun set, he felt more at peace than he had in years.

\--

He was fourteen when he first began to well and truly resent Techno, sure he’d be jealous and stepped upon since Techno had come into his life, but Phil had finally begun recognizing him as someone other than his middle child, they’d had a private conversation the other day, on nothing quite at all and Wilbur was still riding the high.

And then Techno had been invited to the kings annual Ball, with Phil. Because it didn’t matter that Wilbur had becomes just as good a fighter as him now, albeit more so in psychological warfare as he could only keep up with techno in a spar for about a half hour (more, he should note, than most actual soldiers could) and felt it almost a slight. Which fine, it was just an event and it didn’t matter so much and-

When Techno was given the opportunity to choose a plus one he picked Tommy. 

Wilbur took an especially long visit to Sally that day, sitting silently on the river rocks, watching fish swim on by with little regard for their existences at all. He’d given Sally the gift she’d asked (demanded) of him the last time he’d been here (he learnt quick that she wouldn’t stay without an incentive, but at least she’d let herself be manipulated into spending time with him, more than he could say for the majority of his own family.)

He rarely ever had the chance to talk to Tommy even, unless he was babysitting whilst Techno and Phil sparred or were away to battle. He loved those days, when he was “Wilby!” instead of some other sibling that Tommy barely interacted with. Tommy wouldn’t mind when he read to him some books about animals, or sung to him songs he’d written himself. The little five year old (soon to be six) brimming with questions that he would thank Wilbur for answering with sloppy kisses to his cheeks.

He missed it, that little time he got with his siblings and Phil when there was nobody but him in their company. He wished so desperately that he wasn’t always going to be the third wheel.

Sally’s hand trails up his thigh as she whispers her newest request for what she wants, probably more jewelry, but it didn’t matter to him, her attention was always on him, willing to listen to his every grievance and give advice and hold him. So when her hand trailed higher than it usually did and she instead requested that he bed her, he was craving her company and sole attention enough that he was willing to give in.

(He cried himself to sleep that night, feeling her phantom hands trail all over his skin long after she’d touched him, and wishing dearly that she listened when he begged her to stop. He didn’t know how to word the request, didn’t know the words required to explain the feeling of violation.)

\--

Its later that same year when he was still fourteen that Tubbo came along, thin as a wire and his clothes ruffled, he looked a mess, dirty and smelling quite terrible. Wilbur’s instincts kicked in, he herded the boy (six, a few months older than Tommy) into the bathrooms and grabbed some of his childhood clothes. Once clean he and Phil stuffed that boy full of as much food as he could manage, Tommy and Techno took him out to the garden to play amongst the flowers and bees and Wilbur watched from the porch as everyone positively buzzed with excitement at the new addition to the family.

It was on that day a new tradition began, every night Wilbur would read both Tommy and Tubbo a bed time story, acting out parts and playing up characters, much to the boys delights. It was the only time they ever really came to him for anything, else it was always Techno. Always, Always Techno.

It felt like he was loosing Techno more and more, clinging to what little scraps of attention he could get from him whenever they sparred (a rarer and rarer occurrence since he began training for the competitions he competed at) and whenever he could convince him to stay an afternoon with him, reading obscure poetry and their observations out to one another.

Phil hadn’t been home since he’d dropped off Tubbo, the final push of the war was near and Techno would be joining it by Phil’s side. At least this time he had Sally, the kids, his job at the town tavern as their bard and his other at the local physicians in brewing simple concoctions. At least this time he wouldn’t come home to empty rooms. 

It was on that night, fifteen now (they’d missed his birthday but he didn’t mind so much, he didn’t exactly celebrate it anyway) he held Tubbo and Tommy close in their garden, watching the stars as Tubbo drooled into his shirt and Tommy snored incessantly. Even here he felt that stinging inadequacy, knowing full well that if the boys had the option to lay on Techno or Phil they’d take it without question (they wouldn’t, they loved their big brother so much, but he learned that only when he’d hurt them so, so horribly when he would one day stand at the helm of pogtopia) 

\--

Wilbur moves a few houses away at sixteen, the war is over and both Techno and Phil come home with haunted eyes and so Wilbur does the best he can for them, he directs Tommy and Tubbo to them whenever they seem particularly despondent, he holds Phil when he shakes from the memories and never mentions the bruises his hands would leave on him whenever he held Wilbur too hard; He lets Techno yell at him until he’s willing to open up about his actual issues and sob into his shoulder.

He gives them everything he has, and Sally hated that, that he gave them so much attention without the same being dolled to her, and so he spends what little time he has with her, letting every single one of her words sink into his skin. He doesn’t question when she starts pretending that he’s her toy, using him as a bed warmer most nights, blaming him for things she’s done, when she began to take him and bed him without much input from him anymore, as though he’d always consent.

It was Phil that noticed him growing gaunt, barely able to stomach anything under the stress of keeping Tubbo and Tommy from being hurt whilst Phil and Techno recovered, from Sally’s constant arguments and disregard for him (the whole family knew about Sally, what an angel and upstanding citizen). But when Phil brought it up Wilbur was well and truly perplexed.

Phil had flinched when he’d admitted that he was used to it, that the bruises and yelling and berating were worth the few hours of affection he’d get after, were worth bearing phantom hands and bruises. He was loved because of that right? Phil had teared up when Wilbur had hugged him and apologized for being a burden.

Wilbur didn’t know that Phil would sit down and talk to Techno about it when Wilbur’d decided to take the kids out to the local lake to play in the waters the next day, and that they’d come to the same conclusion of his needing some kind of help. It was never brought up to him though, a backburner concern when Techno had won his first PVP tournament with ease, and Wilbur moved out of home to live with Sally (though he did still spend the majority of his time at home, helping wherever he could, frantically as though the slightest slip up would have him replaced.)

\--

Sally leaves in the night when Fundy is a week old, Wilbur a few months younger than seventeen. Techno is away being crowned as the champion of their land, Tubbo and Tommy with Phil as Phil finishes up his duties as a soldier and signs his resignation so that he may explore the realms as any other citizen might. 

He hates them almost, for not being there when he sat alone in his room, holding his powder orange skinned daughter (son, Fundy would tell him when he was eight that he was a boy) and crying silently as the child slept.

He sobs into his pillow as the child shifts in their sleep, clutching his shirt with their tiny hands and Wilbur vows that Fundy would not suffer near as much as he had, that he’d have his father always there and not at some war. 

And for the first time in his life, he falls well and truly in love, holding the child close as the tidal wave of emotion runs through him, the rush of affection, the need to protect, the need to be a perfect father (he’d fail, he’d fail so very miserably).

Fundy cries when the dawn breaks, demanding food and appearing distressed when his mother didn’t come to hold him, but he is fed and cleaned and held as Wilbur stares out his window, knowing that his shift at the library would be soon.

\--

Techno returns home first, his coronation was short and he comes home with a crown. He watches Wilbur rock Fundy gently in his arms, takes in deep bags under his eyes and the gauntness that came whenever Wilbur was stressed.

“What happened?” Techno asks in lieu of a hello. Wilbur stands there a moment, observing him as though he couldn’t believe he was home and the conversation That Phil had with him those few months ago comes rushing back.

Techno holds Wilbur as he sobs into his shoulder, taking in his niece (nephew) and the absence of Sally. He doesn’t bring it up, instead gently taking the child and convincing Wilbur to lay down, then giving his child back and holding them both close. Wilbur had let him do the same when images of the war had printed themselves on the back of his eyelids, it was the least he could do in return.

\--

Techno never does get an explanation as to what happened to Sally, taking his explanation of her swimming back out to sea as a way for Wilbur to soften the blow of Sally’s apparent death (he never learnt of her simply leaving). He doesn’t comment further, having himself lost friends to the front lines and understanding the stress Wilbur was likely under, juggling two jobs and a child (thankfully the barmaids and the librarians son both made good caretakers when he was working).

Phil, Tommy and Tubbo come home a month later, when Wilbur and Techno had both learned to care for a child and had learnt to function on little sleep. Techno finds his (nephew) a true joy, skin entirely unmarred and tiny hands clutching his fingers whenever (he) could, and curious blue eyes staring at him from over Wilbur’s shoulder. He supposed it didn’t feel too dissimilar to owning a particularly troublesome pet.

The first thing out of Phil’s mouth was a soft adoring coo at the sight of a sleepy Fundy laying on Wilbur’s chest as Wilbur read something on an obscure topic, himself half asleep, at Techno asleep next to Wilbur in the love seat, sword at the ready. He and the kids quietly trot up to them, both Wilbur and Techno too exhausted to notice anything out of the ordinary.

“who’s this?” Phil asks, startling Wilbur into immediately turning his back on Phil to curl protectively around the orange child, he startles Techno awake with his yelp. Phil finds himself on the floor as a bleary-eyed Techno stares him down with murder in his eyes, startling both Tommy and Tubbo.

“Phil?” Wilbur asks, uncurling from his defensive position and glancing down at the scene, tiny child awake now but too startled to cry just yet. “you’re all home?”

“heck yeah we are wilby!” exclaimed Tommy as Techno stepped out of his offensive pose and sat back down on the loveseat as a lazy monarch might. Wilbur couldn’t help his smile as Tubbo wondered up curiously to touch Fundy’s tiny hand, couldn’t help but chuckle when Tubbo positively vibrated when Fundy wrapped his tiny hand around Tubbo's finger.

And so they gathered together for the afternoon, Phil being handed Fundy so that Wilbur and Techno could get started on dinner for the lot, Tommy puttering about and hyping Tubbo up about being an uncle, causing the two of them to engage in a competition to make Fundy laugh the most (spoiler: it was Tubbo, who’d decided to play up his various personalities, becoming a very serious character in a mock argument with Tommy and breaking character to make funny faces at Fundy)

Phil was the one to herd them to the table, corralling the two boys when they grew too rowdy and began to disturb the tuckered out baby. Phil was perplexed when he entered the kitchen to find Wilbur looking immensely agitated, shifting around when he stood and constantly pacing as though impatient for the last of the meal (a vegetable roast with a side of mashed potatoes and a well spiced curry) to be finished and then almost immediately taking the child back when he could, nerves only settling when the child fell asleep in his arms.

Phil watched him press a kiss into the child’s temple and rock him almost compulsively, only now taking notice of his slightly sunken cheeks.

“Are you doing okay, Wilbur?” He asks quietly, and when Wilbur looks away and doesn’t respond, Phil asks another question, “what happened to Sally?”

Wilbur’s flinch catches his eye, his eyes growing dewy as they glance back over to Phil, he rocks the child even though they were sleeping and wouldn’t have needed the movement, more for Wilbur’s own comfort. “..swam out to sea I suppose.” Wilbur replies quietly.

Phil doesn’t think, pulling his son and (nephew) close, holding his son for the first time since he was ten. Phil’s heart burns when he realizes how long it had been since he’d last held Wilbur, since he’d seen his son be so vulnerable for him. It snaps clean in half when Wilbur pulls away as though burned when Tubbo enters the room to ask for some water.

\--

Wilbur watches his son burn the flag with tears in his eyes, watching from a distant hill top in the land that he’d been banished from, watches and feels his heart burn to dust. Like mother like son he supposed.  
(He turns around before he can see Fundy fall to his knees and cry his heart out at the ashes of the flag that was made for him, from a design that he’d watched his father conceptualize when he was thirteen. The flag he’d watch his father excitedly stitch when L’manburg had become a concept and was talking to him about a free land, where they’d finally be safe.)

\--

Wilbur watches Techno leave from the floor, from where he’d been knocked down and held at sword point as Techno yelled at him for growing delusional, for not trusting him. He watched Tommy try to convince him to stay, begging not to leave them alone in the ravine and somehow it feels like something he should have expected to happen.

Somehow it felt like it had been an Inevitability from the day he’d watched the pink haired boy enter his childhood home by Phil’s side. God it hurts, of course it does, and it makes him regret ever having trusted Techno at all. He feels his heart clamp shut, feels the low burn be extinguished by the climbing walls around his heart. (He doesn’t stop to think about what his lack of trust would do to Tommy.)

\--

Wilbur feels a millennium old when he stands at the button, Phil across the room in netherite gear (probably from Techno’s stash, God he missed Techno) and wielding a heavy sword with practiced and calloused hands. He smiles for the first time in months, looking up at his father, a crashing relief that he’d finally be free from the madness that had struck him, that the walls around his heart would be pierced with prejudice when he pressed the button and he begins his tirade.

He reads out lyrics scratched into walls, tells Phil of all that he’d missed, laughs at the pain in his face because _dad was finally listening to him! And him alone!_ he had his attention, had his concern, had his _love_ (Phil feared for his children’s lives, he regretted not being here before Wilbur had gone-) and then Wilbur takes the final step between him and the button.

“-And you know what he said Phil?” 

_click._

“-it was never meant to be.”

\--

Phil holds his sons limp body and feels a sob build at the back of his throat, feels his chest go numb when he doesn’t find the pulse he’s looking for, he feels the warm body slumped against him. He pushes Wilbur back off of his sword and hears his body _thump_ against stone and can’t bite back his cry.

Glassy eyes stare back at him, but what haunts him more when he thinks back to that bunker days later, was that it was the first time in his life that he’d seen Wilbur look truly happy.


End file.
